The greatest creation
by wodolay
Summary: He'd show the world this new creation of his. Knowing exactly that he is the only one to see it's true beauty. Knowing that this creation of his, will never leave him. The greatest creation of them all.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello!**

**Thank you for clicking on my story and I hope you enjoy it **

**Reviews would be appreciated. Let me know if there are big mistakes in it. No Beta this time.**

**A/N: I do NOT own Hetalia. It all belongs to the rightful owner.**

* * *

**The greatest creation**

It all started with a blank canvas and a lonely night.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was a well known artist. His creations got praised all over the world. Paintings, Sculptures, all showing a different emotion, radiating a glow towards their on-lookers not even the Spaniard could explain. Yet his fame didn't help cease the loneliness he felt at night.

Woman and Men threw themselves at him but none of them were the right one.

This is where the story started.

The Spaniard put the canvas on the easel, inspecting the blankness before him. He had enough pieces for his coming exhibition so this could be his distraction until creativity hit him again and could work on another piece for his so loved exhibitions.

He used fine strokes that made the painting almost look real.

Hours, Days, Weekslater, smooth skin, shining eyes, hair that looked soft to the touch were to be seen on the once white canvas. The artist took a step back to look at his creation.

A lean figure was standing in the middle of his painting, a mop of auburn hair with a wayward curl that seemed to defy gravity on it's head. Soft, amber-colored eyes stared back at him, a small smile gracing his lips. The man resembled an other painting he had made a few months prior. _They could be brothers. Cute._

The Spanish man couldn't help but smile back at his creation. _So beautiful._

A scowl appeared on the tanned, usually smiling face. _Too beautiful. No one shall see him like this._

His last exhibition was a success, as always, and he had sold some of his paintings, giving him space for more, newer creations of his. It was hard letting go of his work like that but he had to make a living and he appreciated the fact that people found his paintings just as beautiful as him, willing to pay high prices for them.

Looking back at his finished work a smile graces his lips. _He is so beautiful. I can't keep him to myself...but no one shall see him like this. It is reserved for only me. This smile, the kind eyes._

Taking a brush, he didn't pay attention to what kind of brush it was, he dipped it into the paint he used a few minutes earlier.

With a swift stroke he created a dark contrast between the fine brushstrokes he used earlier, with the now, almost ugly, hard line. He continued like this for hours, not even once letting go of the paintbrush.

Layer for layer he smeared more paint over the beautiful creation of his. Layer for layer covering the beauty that was once to be seen on it.

Hours later the Spaniard finally let go of the brush. It fell to the floor, making little noise in the silence of the night.

He took a few steps back, looking at his beautiful creation for the first time in hours.

The kind eyes turned into a nasty look, fitting to the hard line of his lips. The once so lovingly peaceful face turned into a scowl, glaring at the Spanish artist as if to ask him why he did this.

The fine, strokes that made it once look so realistic, turned into harsh, long strokes that made the painting look rough.

It didn't look like any other paintings of his.

It was something special.

"You are still beautiful, mi tesoro.", he whispered in the dark, as if to reassure the man on the canvas.

The glare didn't cease, which made him snicker. Talking to a painting. He really spent too much time with his work.

He decided that what he did was the right thing. The man still was beautiful. His soft, kind eyes and the small smile, hidden under several layers of paint. Hiding the beauty that was really behind that scowl.

But he knew that it was there. He knew exactly that his harsh, rough painting has a beautiful, soft side, too.

He'd show the world this new creation of his.

Knowing exactly that he is the only one to see it's true beauty.

Knowing that this creation of his, will never leave him.

The greatest creation of them all.

He quickly signed his newest creation.

_Antonio F. Carriedo_

* * *

_Authors Note: I planned this to be a multi-chapter. But I liked how it came out like this. _

_Let me know what you think. Should I leave it like this or add some chapters?_

_Thank you for reading!_

_Have a nice day _


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello!**

**Here is the update for this story, I hope you enjoy it :)**

**I will try to update it every week. Three chapters are already written, so that would not be a problem to update while my finals are coming nearer!**

**I want to kindly thank all the lovely people who added this story to their watch/favorite list and/or left a review :)**

**Sadly, I still don't own Hetalia.**

**Still no Beta.**

* * *

It have been months since he had finished his painting.

The Spaniard had no trouble finding a name for his favorite, simply calling it "The greatest creation_"__. _It was true after all.

He hung it next the to painting of his brother, that's what he liked to call the two similar paintings, and glanced at it.

His favorite piece of work still glared at him, which didn't cease it's beauty by one bit, while his brother smiled towards the on-lookers. Eyes closed, big, goofy smile plastered on his face.

_They really do look like brothers, _the Spanish man thought. _So cute. _He shrugged and smiled. At least his beauty wouldn't be lonely when he was out creating new sculptures, new paintings.

Though he was sure that none of his future works will come out as beautiful as the one before him.

...

It have been weeks since he hung it in his exhibition.

People gathered around the two paintings of the brothers. Most of them gushed over how realistic the younger one looked, how well he caught the happiness in that one. They absolutely loved him. People kept asking how much they'd have to pay to hang it in their museums.

Not many people complimented him on his favorite, his beautiful, though. They were asking him why he decided to hang up these two next to each other, building such a contrast between these two pieces. Saying that he should hang the painting with the rough strokes and dark colors to another place. Where it wouldn't disturb the fully beauty of his "younger brother".

The artist would just smile at them and explain that these two belonged together.

Not once showing them his anger.

Not once telling them to just leave if they cannot appreciate the beauty of his best work.

A rueful smirk crossed his face.

It wasn't their fault. They saw what he made them see.

It wasn't their fault that they couldn't see through the layers of paint.

They didn't know, that if you slowly, cautiously, removed the many layers, they might see the true beauty of his masterpiece.

But that was okay.

Because he knew how beautiful it looked.

He knew how beautiful _he _looked.

And it was only his.

...

It have been months since he had finished his beauty and hung it in his exhibition. Months since people were looking at him, not understanding why such a piece would hang next to his "masterpiece".

The ever smiling man has lost his smile weeks ago. Constantly confronted about the two brothers. If they couldn't see his beauty, he wouldn't be angry. If they preferred the "young brother", that was what he named him, so be it. But not in his exhibition.

No, in this room, the beauty of his best creation should be acknowledged as one.

It was hard to sell the young brother. He didn't like separating it from it's other half.

He sighed as he handed the painting over to the Austrian exhibitor. He was a good customer of Antonio, but he was picky. The Austrian man had him asked about the painting several times now. _He seemed to only be interested in this one. Fine by me._

"What do you plan to do with his one, amigo?", the Spaniard asked. They weren't exactly friends but he knew better than to anger the Austrian and loose one of his best customers.

The Austrian looked at him, probably thinking why he suddenly showed so much interest on to where his work is headed.

"Do you remember Ludwig? He told me about this painting here. It seemed that he really took a liking on this one. I do own him a favor, and I hate owning favors. So I will get him this.", the Austrian man explained before shaking his hands and leaving.

Antonio smiled for the first time in weeks. _Ludwig is a good man. He will take good care of him._

With that thought still in his mind he went back home.

…

Now that the distraction was sold, people noticed the beauty that was so often forgotten.

True, they only noticed it after the distraction was sold. But it did the trick.

The Artist started smiling again, being his happy self again.

Until a man from Turkey asked him how much he wanted for the piece.

The Spaniard was perplexed, didn't he mention that the greatest creation is not for sale?

He informed him of this fact and watched as the Turk grumpily walked away.

This was when he realized that now that people were looking, _really looking,_ they'd want to own it.

But that was a big no. He wouldn't let them touch it. Wouldn't let them own it without them even knowing what it is really worth. It was _his. And his alone._

After the Turk many others followed. The Turk came several times asking for the painting. No matter how many times Antonio refused. Always wearing that white mask of his, _a trademark only the Turk was allowed to wear, _he thought bitterly. Who would want to wear such a stupid mask anyway?

He was about to go to the security and tell them to ban the Turk from coming to his gallery again when he noticed.

His painting, his masterpiece, _his beloved,_ was gone.

* * *

**As you can see, Antonio is a _little bit _obsessed with Lovino.**

**He might turn a bit dark in later chapters, shouldn't be too bad though :)**

**Let me know what you think about it ~**

**Thank for reading ~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello!**

**First of all, I want to thank you all so much for the lovely reviews you have posted! You have no idea how happy this makes me!**

**Also thanks to all the people who added this list to their follow/favorites!**

**So here is the next chapter for this fanfiction (my GerIta fanfiction will have to wait until after exams *sigh*)**

**Still No Beta (I have a Beta now but I forgot to send it to her but didn't want you to wait too long. Next chapter will probably be Beta'd though)**

**I hope you enjoy it ~**

**A/N: I still do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

Gone.

The painting was gone. A horrid blank spot filled the space where once his masterpiece hung.

The Spaniard searched the whole place. Maybe some of the workers moved it to another place? No, it couldn't be. The past few months made it clear that nobody but him was allowed to touch it.

Maybe he had put it somewhere, moved it, and forgot? After all it was known that he would forget a thing or two.

_I would never forget him. Where is he?_

...

Antonio walked from room to room, searching for _something. _There just_ has _to be_ something._

After an hour of running around, searching every corner, every spot for his greatest creation he finally realized that it must have been stolen.

Someone stole his precious painting.

Someone touched his treasure.

Someone touched him.

How _dare _they take what was his?

No one, absolutely _no one _was allowed to touch his beautiful work.

Suddenly he felt angry. No that wasn't the right word. _Furious._

The Spanish man quickly thought of all people that might have stolen his beautiful creation.

The Turk.

That was all he could think about. The Turk. It must have been him.

Rage flared within him, leading his thoughts to dark places. Places filled with the oozing red of blood and screams that echoed through the silence. The blood of the Turk. He imagined how it would taste on his tongue. He had taken something precious from him, so why won't he?

A dark chuckle that escaped his lips shook him from his thoughts.

Gripping his brown locks the Spaniard frantically looked around.

What was he thinking? Was he really thinking about killing a man? For a painting? As much as he knew he could be innocent!

With shaking hands he finally pulled out his phone and quickly called the police.

...

Hours later the Spaniard fell into his bed.

The police arrived only minutes after he had called.

He had been the only one at the gallery, all doors and windows were locked. He even had to unlock the doors so the policemen could enter the building.

No evidence was found. No trace of a break-in or of the painting.

It was as if the painting had just...disappeared.

The policemen told him that they would look into it and let him know if they found something.

It was a lost cause. He knew it.

It was gone.

He couldn't believe it.

How could this happen?

No one was at the gallery, he had been there most of the times, he surely would have noticed if someone tried to pull a stunt like that.

_Apparently I didn't. Why couldn't I be more careful? Why didn't I pay more attention? idiota!_

His most precious treasure was gone. And it was his fault.

A quiet sob escaped his lips. _All my fault! All my fault! My fault! My fault!Myfaultmyfaultmyfault! Mine mine mine mine!_

His sobs became more frequent, his breathing became harder. _Why can't you do things right for once? Had you paid more attention he wouldn't have been taken away from us! It's all your fault! It's all your fault and now we will never see him again._

It was as if some other part of him was telling him this. Blaming him. Yelling at him. His other self was right, though. It was all his fault.

Everything was quiet besides the sobs that could be heard from the desperate man on the bed.

The rage has been long ago replaced by dread, sadness and desperation.

The sobbing man slowly fell asleep as the slowly rising feel of loneliness hit him.

Now he was all alone.

His other creations were nothing to him. He had only eyes for his beloved treasure. But his hidden beauty was gone.

...

Loud knocks came from the direction of the living room. Hadn't it been for the sounds of fists against wood one would have thought someone tried to kick in his door.

The tired Spaniard opened his eyes, they were red and puffy from the crying, and looked at the clock. 4 AM. Who in their right mind would knock on someones door at 4 AM?

Antonio didn't think much of it though, choosing to ignore it. Whoever it was would leave soon.

So he closed his eyes and waited. And waited. And still waited.

Yet, after five minutes of endless hammering, a loud, angry voice called "Oi, Bastard! Open the damn door!"

He opened his eyes, again

It probably was a drunk who got the wrong door.

Sighing, he slouched over to the direction the loud knocks where coming from. His mood dropped gradually with each step he took. H was in no mood to talk to people. He was in no mood to talk to people_ at 4 AM_. Especially drunk people.

_Why can't at least one thing go right, today!?_

He swung open the door, ready to tell the person on the other side to just piss off, leaving his friendly demeanour behind him.

But it never happened.

All he could do was to stare at the man at his doorstep.

The man had the same, beautiful amber-colored eyes, the auburn hair with the wayward curl. And a scowl.

A scowl that made his heart flutter.

Here, right in front of him stood his precious treasure.

But this was no painting, no, it was a human being.

"What the fuck are you staring at? Let me in!", was the last thing his tired mind could catch before he slipped into darkness.

* * *

**See what I did there? Spain's other side?**

**I'm sorry if this chapter was pretty angsty and hurt Antonio :c**

**But you can't write Spain without Pain! So, here ya go A;**

**And yay for a certain persons first appearance!**

**Hope you enjoyed it and see you next time (:**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! **

**I want to thank all the lovely people for their reviews/favs/follows!**

**It really helps me to cope with all the finals stress. *sigh* Why can't I earn my money with writing fanfiction.**

**Well, here is the promised update. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Warnings: Dark!Spain , No Beta**

**A/N: I do NOT (sadly) own Hetalia. **

* * *

Throb. Throb. Groan. Throb.

Antonio didn't know what happened.

Something about his painting, a drunkard hammering on his door, someone yelling at him...

A pain shot through his head, drawing a moan out of him. _Mierda. What happened?_

"Oi, Bastard! I told you to wake up! ", a slightly quivering voice ordered him. Then, he felt a slap. _Did he just slap me?_

His mind couldn't catch up with the things happening, before he knew it he felt another slap, this time harder, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Q-que?", he stammered. As his eyes shot open, he only saw a blurry silhouette of some man standing above him. Who was this man? And why was he being so mean?

As his eyes adjusted to the lights that shone right into his face, his questions all died down.

"Mi Tesoro!", the Spanish man yelled, caging the stuttering man in a rib crushing hug.

The Spaniard gripped the now yelling man tightly, not willing to let go any time soon. He didn't know how this had happened. If his sanity finally snapped over the painting or if this was real. He didn't even know if he cared. All he knew was that his precious was back. And this time, he wouldn't let him go. No, not this time.

_I will never let you go, _he thought just before he released the angry man because of a kick to the stomach. _Oh dios..._

"Don't call me that!", the oh so beautiful, yet angry, man yelled. A fierce blush crept onto his face and Antonio just couldn't keep in the squeal. _His face looks like a tomato! So cute!_

"But mi Corazón! I have searched everywhere for you! I was so desperate, I thought I had lost you. But you came back! You are back!" The Spaniard beamed at the scowling man, he couldn't be happier. His most loved pai- beloved just came back to him.

"Don't call me these things, Bastard", his miracle said. Yes, this was a miracle. God had heard his pained cries and silent prayers. He had heard him and brought him back. As a human nonetheless!

Said miracle looked at him, annoyed at the happy mood of the Spaniard, or annoyed at everything. One could never be sure with him.

"Have you moved or something!? I have searched for your damn house all night long!" The Italian, that's what Antonio guessed at least, if he went after the accent, stomped over to the sofa and plopped down on it. He quickly stood up and noticed that, wow, his head still hurt. He hoped he wasn't in some weird dream-hallucination...this better not be a dream. Rubbing his head, Antonio walked over to the door and closed it and then sat down next to the Italian.

"What is your name, my beautiful?" Again a glare, then a sigh.

"Will you stop calling me these things if I tell you?", came the answer. Antonio smiled.

"Maaaybeee..."

Glare.

"Lovino", came the curt reply.

_Lovino! What a beautiful name! _

Again, he got slapped. Had he been thinking out loud?

...

The Artist had so many questions to ask. How did this happen? How did he find him? Why didn't he see him in the gallery?

But these questions had to wait, Antonio noted after Lovino had kindly (yelled) asked (ordered) for food.

So he quickly prepared him some leftover from the paella he had made for lunch (he was a hungry man, he couldn't wait for dinner!).

They continued to talk for an hour or so, or more like, Antonio asking questions and Lovino growling out an answer or two.

"So, how com you are alive now?", was the first thing the Spaniard had asked Lovino.

The Italian had expected this question but didn't know how to answer. He couldn't understand it himself.

"Hell, if I knew."

"Do you think this is temporary?", was the next question. Antonio hoped it wasn't. He loved him already so much! He wouldn't be able to see him turn into a lifeless painting, again! It would break his heart! He had never thought it'd be able to love him any more than he already did...

Apparently he was wrong.

"Dunno", a shrug. "All I know is that some asshole decided to move me from my usual spot, even broke my damn frame! That idiot!" What. Who? Who had touched his Lovi, _broke his frame?_

Before he could ask though, Lovino continued "Then, that stupid imbecile, put me on the dirty ground outside the gallery! I guess he was getting his car because he couldn't bear the weight of the great me. What a wimp. Next thing I know is that I lie on the ground , having _a body. With arms and legs and shit. A_nd _hell_ that's when I ran. No Stranger just takes me away from my home. But the stupid gallery was closed so I couldn't get back in! So I searched for your house. _For hours._" He ended his rant with a scowl that was sent towards the Spaniard as if it was his fault that he got lost.

The Spaniard didn't joke like he normally would. No. He just stared at the wall. Trying to control his anger that was boiling inside him. He needed to know.

"Who." That was all he could manage.

_Who _had dared to touch him.

"B-Bastar-"

"Who." He needed to know. He couldn't let the man escape who had tried to steal that what was oh so dear to him.

Lovino seemed to see what was going on in his head, for he hesitated a bit but then reluctantly answered "I-I don't know...some weird guy, big, muscled? A stupid white mask? I didn't see much before he put that cloth over me so I don't know!"

Oh, Antonio knew exactly who it was. He has been right about the Turk.

Too bad, he could have been a good customer.

A dark smirk crossed his face as he slowly thought of ways to repay the Turk. It weren't nice things.

He didn't even know how he'd do it. But by god he would make him pay.

A hand gripped his arm and pulled him back on the sofa. _When did I get up?_

"Whatever it is you are thinking. Don't! It's not worth it!"

There it was again. That slight quiver in his voice. Was he... worried?

Looking into his soft eyes, the scowl gone for a short moment, he snapped out of it.

What was this? Who was this side of his?

_What is wrong with me?_

A panicked look settled onto his face. _Dios. Why am I thinking such things?!_

This wasn't him! He would never hurt someone! He would hug people, kiss them, tell them how much he liked them. Not..not _burn them alive. Skin them. Let them bleed out on your carpet. Capture the moment in your paintings._

The voice in his head got louder and louder with every gruesome thing he listed.

_Take what is dear to him and destroy it. Destroy him. _

He felt sick. Sick with himself.

God help him. He was terrified of himself. When did this all start? Lovi...no...Lovi was good for him. He was perfect. He made him less lonely, he was lovely, he was all that he needed. He was perfect.

And that is why the Turk must to be punished.

He had tried to steal his precious Lovi from him.

The panicked look vanished, and only a small smile graced his lips.

"Okay, my beautiful Lovi. I won't punish him...yet."

Oh no, he couldn't let him get off the hook.

The Turk had unleashed a hidden monster inside of him and now he had to pay for it.

Too bad, he really could have been a good customer.

The dark look on his face disappeared completely, grinning like his usual cheerful self.

"Hey, does that mean that your brother has come to life, too?"

* * *

**I hope you people like dark!Spain. He sure will appear more often in later chapters.**

**As you can see...this story is taking a dark way. It will probably contain major character death and well, Toni. **

**I'm sorry people, I really am bad at writing happy endings...all my stories come out so angsty and sad D:**

**BUT if you would _really_like to see a happy ending...I guess I could upload an alternate ending (but it probably won't be that good...it will probably still become all angsty...) **

**I'll try to figure it out~**

**Oh and if you were curious,**

**My finals are next week and I don't have enough for the next chapter yet so it may be that the next chapter gets delayed. **

**I'll try to keep the delay as short as possible though.**

**Stay lovely~**

**Reviews make me happy and less depressed about my oh so bright * har har* future.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello lovely reader,**

**first of all. I'm sorry that the update took me so long! But hey, it took me ****_hours _****to finish this chapter (I have no idea why it took me so damn long...) and it's even longer than usually! **

**And I finally finished school and have ABOSLUTELY NOTHING to do. So I will finally have time to write more and update some of my older FFs!**

**I will actually try to keep this FF short, because I want it to be finished before summerbreak starts, because I will be gone for about three weeks, then have to find a job and yeah,...let's just hope I finish this before I leave Germany for Russia, da?**

**This chapter is from Lovi's point of view! The next will be from his view, too but after that it should mostly be from Antonios. I just wanted to show Lovi's part of that evening/night.**

**A/N: I do NOT own Hetalia. **

* * *

He didn't know where to go. It was dark, cold and he was alone. Oh and did he mention_ that it was fucking dark?_

Where does one go after waking up on the ground in some dark alley with a heavy, heavy broken frame on top of you? With no memories at all. Nothing but the blurry image of a house, a warm, bright house. And a face. A beautiful, tanned face. Smiling at him. Always smiling. And then a white mask. Lips in a hard line, muttering things under his breath as he put a cover over him. It was so dark. He didn't know where that man was bringing him. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay at home. Stay with _him._

_Antonio F. Carriedo._

Now where did that name come from? Was he Antonio? No...something told him he wasn't.

"Lo-Lovino." The man muttered quietly. _Lovino. _

"Who are you...", Lovino asked himself. It's as if the name was etched in his mind. _Antonio F. Carriedo._ His mind practically screamed.

_Maybe that man was Antonio? No, it couldn't be. That man was not Antonio. He was not him. He had no green eyes._

Lovino got up, and started to walk on wobbly legs. The man didn't know where to go. He had to go somewhere else, somewhere away from this man. So he walked as fast as his legs could, which was actually _surprisingly fast _after he accustomed to his newly given legs.

_Antonio F. Carriedo. Home. Antonio F. Carriedo. Home. Antonio F. Car-_

His frantic mind stopped when he noticed a big poster. It was simple but it was the caption, printed in big, bold letters that caught his attention.

_Art exhibition: The greatest creation. _

_By _

_Antonio F. Carriedo._

It hung on a big, white building. Lovino didn't know what to do. All he could think was that this was his home. And that Antonio must be in there. The lights were on, the whole building glowed in the oh so dark night. The sound of shoes against hard ground was loud in the silent night. Before Lovino could realize that he was running he had already reached out to open the door. A small smile graced his lips as he pulled on the handle. Just to disappear right after the door refused to open. _What. Oh no._

He pulled again. Not budging. Maybe pushing will do the trick?

Again, no such luck.

The man began to lose his patience. _What the fuck. Why won't this shit open._

He pulled, pushed, kicked and hit the door but to no avail. _No no nononononono._

The silence of the night crept onto him, making him nervous. Where was he? Where was he supposed to go!? Was he all alone?

A small sniff escaped him. He could feel the wetness on his cheeks and the stinging feeling in his eyes. _Fuck._

He would _not _cry, for fuck's sake!

Gathering the remaining pieces of his pride he started to walk away from the building. The man had no idea where to go. He _had _nowhere to go.

So that's what he did. He just walked somewhere until he found a destination.

Never would this lone man have guessed where this way would lead him to.

...

He didn't know how long he had been walking. All he knew was that he had been walking around for a damn long time. Lovino had overcome a few small panic attacks that were caused by the eerie silence of the night, the paranoia that the darkness brought with it, oh, and the fact that he was absolutely alone, had nowhere to go and _was_ _no one. _He had desperately tried to think of _something_. Memories, a plan on what to do now, who he was, why he woke up with only a name in his mind. _Antonio F. Carriedo._

_That stupid name! It's giving me a headache! What the hell is Antonio F. Carriedo for a name anyway!?_

To say that he was pissed, was an understatement. His panic and fear have been replaced by rage. Of course this would happen to him. Of course fate would put him in a dark alley, with a fucking stranger trying to carry him away from home, then being locked out from said home and being stuck with a stupid ass name in his head.

A loud sigh escaped his lips. He needed to calm down and think of something. Calming down didn't work though so he just settled for a scowl. Scowling was good. Scowling would do.

He was just about to curse some more when something caught his eye. Flowers. Red Carnations. Even in the dim light of the street lantern they had such a pretty color. It wasn't the flowers that caught his attention though, but the memory that came with them. A warm, bright house with a big garden, and flowers everywhere. Flowers with vibrant colors that were so bright that it made him wish, that he himself could be just as bright. The scowl eased off his face. _Could it be?_

Maybe fate didn't make him walk around for so long for _nothing._

As he walked up to the door, his heart began beating faster. Who lives here? Is anybody home?

"The lights are out...maybe they are sleeping.", he muttered. That thought though didn't stop him from hammering on the door with his fists. If they were sleeping, he had to somehow wake them, no?

Even after minutes of knocking he refused to stop. He somehow had the feeling that he _had _to be here and that some douche _was fucking refusing to open the fucking door._

_That's it._ He had enough. He was tired and angry and hungry. He took a deep breath before yelling "Oi, Bastard! Open the damn door!", into the silent night. Don't judge him, he had been knocking for at least five minutes now.

Said Bastard took his time to open the door. When he did though, Lovino wasn't only met with an angry glare but also with a wave of new memories.

_Antonio F. Carriedo._

_Green eyes, looking at him as if he was his world, whispering words that made his heart flutter. Always smiling as he looks his way, scowling once they shifted a little to his side. But the shining green eyes of his hid something dark, something he didn't seem to notice._

For a very short moment, Lovino felt dizzy. Regaining his composure he fixed the man, who seemed to be in a state of shock, with a glare. He was staring at him as if he was a ghost! What a douche!

"What the fuck are you staring at?", he seriously started getting pissed. "Let me in!", he demanded but not without noticing that the shocked man has gone visibly pale. _Oh no, he wouldn't!_

A quiet thud confirmed his suspicions. _Oh great, he did._

…_._

_Great! Fan-fucking-tastic! This night couldn't get any better! I'm having the time of my life! Fuck you life._

It have been about 20 minutes since the guy, _Antonio, _fainted. 20 Minutes and he didn't move one bit nor made any sounds. If it wasn't for his chest that moved up and down oh so slightly, he would have guessed that he was dead. But he wasn't. But he _also wasn't waking up._

It wasn't like _he was worried. _He was just hungry and had no idea where the kitchen in this huge place was!

"Oi, w-wake up!", Lovino said, poking the mans cheek with his finger. This caused the man to slightly turn his head. A groan. _Thank fucking whatever. He's not dead at least!_

But it was quiet again, too quiet! This couldn't do!

"Oi, Bastard! I told you to wake up", he said _with a steady voice, (no it wasn't quivering at all, and if it was, he was hungry and tired weak from all this walking, dammit!) _before slapping the unconscious man. Hard. This seemed to get a reaction from the man, as his face twisted in slight pain. Maybe he didn't slap hard enough? Oh well. _Slap._

_Finally, _he thought as the other mans eyes opened, revealing brilliant green eyes. They were unfocused but seemed to focus again.

"Q-que?" _Oh, great. Now he has forgotten how to speak this language?_

Before he could voice his complaints though two strong arms held him close. _Squeezing him as if his life depended on him._

"Mi Tesoro!", the man yelled, hugging him even tighter. _Fuck dammit, he is crushing me!_

"L-l-let m-me g-go!", he all but stuttered. The man didn't seem to hear him though and – _wait! What did he call him? Tesoro? _

Now this name made him blush, he didn't really know what they meant, but he could guess from the way he said them. And _fuck this_ he thought as he kicked the man in the stomach to escape the death hug of glittery doom.

* * *

**As I already mentioned, the next chapter will be from Lovinos point of view! I hope you don't mind!**

**If there are any major errors please let me know!**

**I hope you enjoyed it ~**

**Have a nice day **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello!**

**Here is the next update!**

**This chapter is from Lovino's POV but the next one will be from Antonio's again :)**

**I hope you don't get too bored with this fanfiction, I'm often unsure if you are satisfied with the updates or not.**

**Reviews would help very much to make this fic better!**

**This times it's even longer! 2040 words! I think that is the longest I have ever written :D **

**A/N: I do NOT own Hetalia.**

* * *

There were two things Lovino was absolutely sure about.

First, Antonio was an fucking idiot. One that couldn't keep out of his personal space, either.

Second, said idiot was an amazing cook. Not that he'd ever tell him that. He wasn't sure what it was that he was devouring, he blamed it on his hunger, but damn did it taste good. Now if only that bastard would let him eat in peace and not bother him with his chatter. That'd be great.

"It's paella, Lovi~" A sigh escaped his lips. He had long given up correcting him. He would just ignore that nickname. He would also ignore the fact that if it was anybody else he would have punched them long ago. He _also _ignored that weird feeling every time he got when Antonio looked at him and smiled when he thought Lovino didn't see him. It were small smiles, secret ones, not these blinding ones he normally had on his face. Lovino wondered if he smiled to a lot of people like this or if it was just hi-

"So how come you are alive now?", Antonio asked, interrupting his train of thoughts.

Well, that was a good question.

What should he tell him? He didn't know himself. Lovino was still confused about the whole situation, it was a miracle that he had found Antonio in the first place and not ended up dead the next morning.

"Hell, if I knew."

"Do you think it's temporary?"

_Huh, didn't even think about that._

What was he supposed to say? He had no clue.

"Dunno." He shrugged it off. He really had no idea so he should stop asking these questions! But he didn't stop as he continued "All I know is that some asshole decided to move me from my usual spot, even broke my damn frame! That idiot!", that stupid frame it was so fucking heavy, fucking idiot who couldn't even steal a painting without causing damage to it, dammit!

"Then, that stupid imbecile, put me on the dirty ground outside the gallery! I guess he was getting his car because he couldn't bear the weight of the great me. What a wimp. Next thing I know is that I lie on the ground , having _a body. With arms and legs and shit. A_nd _hell _that's when I ran. No stranger just takes me away from my home. But the stupid gallery was closed so I couldn't get back in! So I searched for your house. _For hours._ ", Lovino couldn't help himself. He just _had _to complain to _someone. _Granted, he left out the panic attacks and that he may or not may have cried. But still! That bastard should feel bad for not looking out for him! It's as if he wanted him to be stolen!

So Lovino did what he best could. He scowled at Antonio.

His expression fell when he looked at Antonio.

It lacked any sort of emotion. His eyes were dark and his voice even when he simply asked "Who."

A shiver ran down his spine.

...

_But the shining green eyes of his hid something dark, something he didn't seem to notice._

...

Lovino felt nervous. _God dammit! You shouldn't have mentioned that! Look what you have done! Couldn't you just shut your trap?_

He knew that there was something dark in Antonio but this was surprisingly different. It wasn't possessive, like the other times.

This side was murderous. It yearned blood. It was out to punish the culprit who dared to touch his treasure.

„B-Bastar-", Lovino tried to veer off by being his rude self. He couldn't show him that he was scared. He wouldn't!

„Who"

_Fuck. Is he thinking about- no. But...what should I do? Tell him? Or lie?_

_Fuck!_

_He surely will notice when I lie!_

Fearing that Antonio might take it the wrong way when Lovino covered the thief, he decided to tell him the truth. The thief better never come back. Or he would be fucked.

„I-I don't know...some weird guy, big, muscled? A stupid white mask? I didn't see much before he put that cloth over me so I don't know!"

Lovino prayed for the thief that his description was vague enough for Antonio not to recognize him was he stupid enough to return to the crime scene.

...

The look on the Spaniards face made him shiver. It was cold. It was the face of a killer. Ruthless, ready to kill.

He also seemed to exactly know who it was. _Damn it!_

He-he can't let that happen! Even if he tried to take him away...it surely wasn't reason enough to kill a man, for God's sake!

But it wasn't just that...it was that even if he had just met the man, Lovino could tell that he has fallen for him.

It was as if they had a bound between them neither could explain. There could be no other reason.

Lovino waking up with Antonio's name in his head. Repeating itself over and over. Then him just walking into the direction of his house! He just had this feeling that he belonged here,_ belonged to_ _him._

Deep down Lovino knew that this would end bad.

He had to stop him. He couldn't let something happen to him. He had to keep Antonio safe.

Lovino quickly gripped the man's arm as he stood up. It was hard but he managed to pull him back on the sofa.

"Whatever it is you are thinking. Don't! It's not worth it!" , he all but begged. He didn't even notice the quiver in his voice. He was far too worried for the man.

_Of course I'd fall for a guy with a violent multiple personality._

He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his mind. He really did.

Looking into the Spaniards eyes though, Lovino noted that he looked scared, panicked even. He was probably freaking out. But before he could try to calm him that look quickly changed from panic to determination to content. There was even a small smile gracing his lips.

Lovino felt his body shiver again. This time he managed to suppress it.

"Okay, my beautiful Lovi. I won't punish him...yet." , Antonio said before grinning like the happy fool he was.

_Fuck, this changing personalities thing is really fucking creepy._

"Hey, does that mean that your brother has come to life, too?"

.

.

.

"My-my brother?"

_Brother?_

"_Where has the painting gone?" "Oh I heard that he sold it to some Austrian guy!" "What! No way! It was his best work! Why did he decide to sell it?" "I don't know but he should rather have sold this one." "Are you sure it wasn't stolen? He surely wouldn't sell such a brilliant painting." "Hmm, you could be right. Maybe someone did steal it after all..." "Such a pity" "Yeah,... "_

Whispered words that stung. It wasn't like he wasn't used to them.

"_I really love this painting, it certainly is his best work! Such a pity that he decided to hang it next to this one though, it's so distracting..."_

Of course, he wasn't as beautiful as his brother. His creator should really rather have sold him than F...Feliciano?

"_The artist said that these two paintings are related. But how? I really can't see it."_

But maybe his brother was really stolen...he surely wouldn't have sold his best work.

Maybe that is why he didn't look out for him. Because Feliciano was gone and there was nothing to look out for.

"_Man, this place sure is deserted. Hasn't it been crowded the last time I was here?"_

But Lovino was used to this. He had heard it every day since Feliciano has dissapeared.

"_Such a pity that it's gone. I really liked it."_

Sometimes Lovino wondered what was worse.

"_I'm sure he needed the money, so he sold it. It obvious that it would bring the most money."_

Not being noticed at all or always compared to his brother, people _wishing he would have disappeared instead of his brother._

.

.

.

_Fuck them. I'm just as good as him Fuck you._

"Fuck you."

He didn't need this, he didn't need _him. _

_But mostly, nobody needs me._

He was about to walk out the house when he felt Antonio gripping his arm, pulling him back. For a second Lovino thought that he may have angered him. But his fear quickly subsided and got replaced by anger.

"Lovi, wha-"

"Don't. You dare. Call me Lovi." He really didn't want to seem so dramatic. It just fucking hurt. Hearing every _fucking _day of your _whole existence_ that you are not good enough. He had thought that at least Anto-..._his creator_, thought differently. That he was worth something.

"It's always about my brother, isn't it? It always was, it always will. I _know _that I am not as good as him. But how can even _you _compare me to him, you, who has created us! Why didn't you shred me after you have seen the outcome? Why did yo-", his voice cracked and his eyes burned. Fuck, _what was with all the crying tonight?_

Two strong arms wrapped around him, holding him in place. He tried to squirm away from the man, but to no avail. Antonio held him tight, unlike the prior hug though, this one was different. It felt so secure and for a moment Lovino forgot about his distress, and stilled in his arms.

Lovino closed his eyes. He was so warm but he still just wanted to disappear. Just be gone. Somewhere where he could be alone. With no one comparing him.

"Don't you _ever _say such a thing again.", Antonio growled into his ear. His grip around Lovino tightened even more. "You are my greatest creation, my dearest one. I was just merely curious. I couldn't care less about your brother when I have you here, right next to me."

Lovino felt a small kiss on his temple, feeling all the blood rushing to his face.

_He's lying, don't listen to him!_

"I would never prefer anyone over you."

A kiss on his cheek.

_He's just telling you these things so he can find your brother! Surely the person who tried to steal you stole Feliciano!_

"I was devastated when I noticed that you were gone."

A kiss on the corner of his lips.

_Why can't you accept that he may tell the truth?_

"I would do, _will do, _anything to keep you safe by my side."

A soft kiss on the lips.

_Because I'm not Feliciano. Nobody preferred me over him. Why would he._

At first, Lovino could nothing do but stare at the Spaniard.

He tried to believe these words. Looking into his eyes, he wished he could.

Before Lovino could reply to anything, Antonio leaned in closer to him, whispering "I'll never let you go." The grip around him loosened but he didn't break out of it. Lovino just stayed there, enjoying the warmth of the other mans presence, even if he didn't believe what he said.

What could he say anyway?

_You're wasting your time? Stop lying? Stop building hope?_

"Besides, I sold him to a friend. I couldn't stand it that people didn't notice the true beauty that was before them. It was you. It has always been you. I sold him so people could admire you like I do."

_What?_

That couldn't be, could it?

"I-is that true, B-Bastard?", damn. His voice was fucked up.

Antonio softly caressed his cheek and smiled when Lovino leaned into the touch.

"Si, my querido. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I can't even believe that a simple man like me could create something as stunning as you."

Lovino felt a furious blush forming on his cheeks.

"Too cute~", Antonio cooed. _Way to break the mood, Bastard._

He didn't complain though when Antonio leaned in to kiss him again. And this time, he kissed back.

_Maybe. Maybe he is the exception. _

_This feels right, this is where I belong._

_I belong to Antonio F- Carriedo. _

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**So I hope you liked Lovi's POV.**

**And I hope I didn't make it sound ****_too _****weird, with him referring to him as Antonio's?**

**I just kinda wanted to hint at the signatrue Antonio left on the painting when he finished it.**

**So basically the signature burned into his mind. I thought I might portray it like this, ****_it sure is better than Lovino waking up with Antonio's name tattooed somewhere randomly on his body LMAO_**

**Please leave a review and tell me what you think of the FF so far, I promise it gets more exciting in the next chapters, with more action and more dark!Spainnnnnn (who also takes action)~**

**Have a nice day/good night~**


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